


Brothers of the Bloody Keep

by bluebright_l



Series: Bedtime Stories [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Brotherhood, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:04:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebright_l/pseuds/bluebright_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bb!Euron tells bb!Victarion a bedtime story. Inspired by my story A Dark and Stormy Night, but a bit more...erm, creepy. Because, y'know...Euron.</p>
<p>Thanks to Nomme De Plume for the idea!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers of the Bloody Keep

Victarion tossed and turned restlessly in his uncomfortable little bed. He was big for his age, and he’d outgrown it ages ago, but his father and Balon were off reaving, his mother was constantly ill, Urri and the baby, Aeron, were too small to be of any use, but Euron...   
  
_Euron’s no help at all._ Victarion punched his pillow, suddenly more irritated than before. His older brother had a special knack for getting under his skin, and enjoyed doing so. He had a huge bed all his own, as he often reminded Victarion. It was a massive four-poster, it could’ve fit all five of the Greyjoy brothers comfortably. The thing of it was, Euron wasn’t stingy about it...he often told Victarion he was more than happy to share the bed. That was the problem. If Euron was being generous, it generally meant bad things for Victarion.  
  
He rolled over grumpily, pulling the rough woolen blanket up to his chin, causing it to ride up to the middle of his shins. Victarion went ramrod straight, clenching his hands into tight fists and taking a deep breath. _Control your anger, like father says. Save it for a useful moment._ He threw the blanket off and got out of bed, the stone floor as chilled and damp as always. The thralls said the cold, dank castle of Pyke was what kept his mother from getting better, but Victarion didn’t believe them. She was Ironborn, his father’s rock wife; a little cold and wet shouldn’t bother her. But nevertheless, sick she was. Euron said she would die soon, and he _did_ believe Euron...his brother was right more often than not.  
  
Wrapped in his ragged cloak, too small like most of his things, Victarion left his chambers and crossed the stone bridge that connected the Great Keep and the Bloody Keep. He paused midway across, inhaling deeply. The sound of the waves crashing far below the two islands was soothing to him, and the stiff breeze didn’t bother him at all. Victarion loved Pyke and the sea surrounding it, and felt no fear going between the keeps, not even when he was crossing the great, swaying rope bridge out to the Sea Tower.  
  
He struggled with the massive stone door to the Bloody Keep, but finally managed to pull it open enough to slip through. Navigating the dark halls of the keep by touch, Victarion made his way to Euron’s chambers. Unsurprisingly, there was a faint glimmer of light coming from under his door; Victarion was glad, he would’ve been loathe to wake his brother, although it was debatable how much he really slept.  
  
No sooner had Victarion rapped once on the door than Euron’s voice came from within. “You don’t have to knock, little brother, you’re not a thrall.” He sounded amused, and Victarion rolled his eyes. The last time he’d come in without knocking, his brother had knocked _him_ one upside the head. Euron did love his games.  
  
His older brother was in bed, Victarion saw, with a massive book propped up beside him, its leather cover worn and cracked. The candle on his bedside table was almost burnt through, however, and he marked his page with a bit of string and closed the book when he saw Victarion, smiling warmly. The sight of his smile sent a shiver down Victarion’s spine, and even though he tried to suppress it, Euron’s sharp eyes, so blue, spotted it, and his smile grew.

  
“If you’d just _order_ the thralls, they’d bring you a new bed, Vicky. Or move your rooms. Wouldn’t you like to be closer to me?” Victarion gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to speak. He hated his brother’s pet name for him, but Euron knew that...that was why he used it still. He’d been unable to say ‘Victarion’ when they were younger, but now he just liked how angry it made him. “Come on then, come to bed. I’ll tell you a story to help you sleep.” He patted the bed invitingly.  
  
“I don’t need a story, Euron. I just need a bigger bed. You can keep reading, if you like.” Victarion climbed into the huge bed on the far side, sighing with pleasure as he stretched out completely, finally comfortable. He was careful not to take any of the furs or blankets Euron was using; his brother seemed to be in a good mood, and he didn’t want to do anything to change that.  
  
Euron rolled over to face him, though, the flickering light from the candle casting unsettling shadows across his face. “But the book I’m reading is about the history of Pyke, little brother. Things every Greyjoy should know.” He grinned and scooted a little closer, tossing some of his covers over Victarion. “Do you know how the Bloody Keep got its name?”   
  
Victarion shook his head, blowing a lock of black hair out of his eyes irritably. “No...is that what you were reading about?”  
  
“Among other things,” Euron said. “But the story about the Bloody Keep is my favorite. Do you want to hear it, Vicky?”  
  
“You’ll tell me whether I want to or no, so go ahead,” Victarion replied with a scowl. “And stop calling me Vicky.”  
  
Ignoring his demand, Euron simply smiled and began his story. “A thousand years ago, the men of the Iron Islands ruled from Bear Island in the North, to the Arbor in the South, anywhere a man could hear the crash of waves on the shore, or smell the salt of the sea. The sea was our home, the islands our anchorage, and all the rest our dominion.” Euron was a good storyteller, his voice deep for his age and full of mystery.  
  
“I thought the Greyjoys didn’t become Kings of Salt and Rock until after the dragons came?” Victarion said, doubtful. “How-”  
  
Euron smiled at him again, but this time it was a fearful, cold thing, and Victarion shut his mouth with an audible click. “You’re right, little brother. You’ve been paying attention to the maester’s lessons, haven’t you?” He went on at Victarion’s short nod. “In this age that I speak of, it was another House who ruled. But they were no Kings of mere Salt and Rock,” he winked when Victarion frowned at his easy dismissal of their own father’s title, “but Iron Kings, who pledged fealty to no man, especially no greenlanders. Now, can I continue?”  
  
“Go on, you’ve not said a word about the Bloody Keep yet,” Victarion whispered.  
  
“I’m getting there, Vicky,” Euron said, his smile softening slightly. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, our dominion. The ironmen ruled from North to South, and everywhere in between. But only on the edges, you see. And that old king, the Iron King, wanted more, as kings so often do. Now,” he scooted closer, until they were nearly nose to nose. “If _you_ were the Iron King, what lands would you take?”  
  
It felt like a test to Victarion, another one of his brother’s games, but he still wanted to get the right answer. He kept his eyes on Euron’s as he thought, the dim candlelight making his bright blue eyes seem darker, more sinister, than normal. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he lit on an answer that made sense to him. “The Riverlands,” he said, making it a statement rather than a question. He knew he wasn’t as clever as his brother, even accounting for their age difference, but he also knew this had to be the right answer.  
  
“Very good!” Euron said, reaching over and mussing his hair. Victarion felt a fleeting pride that he’d figured it out, and at his brother’s approval. “Reasoning?”  
  
Victarion sighed. He hated having to explain how he’d worked through a problem, mostly because, more often than not, he hadn’t...the answer had just come to him. “Well, longships can go up rivers, and the Riverlands are close to the Iron Islands...” He trailed off uncertainly, the answer feeling incomplete and babyish, but Euron nodded at him sagely.  
  
“Exactly right. And how would you go about it, then?”  
  
This answer he was sure of, and he spoke quickly. “I would reave and raid their lands along the rivers, make them bleed until they gave up,” he said, grinning fiercely at his brother.   
  
“Yes, you _would_ say that, Vicky, wouldn’t you...” Euron laughed softly. Victarion narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing. He wanted to hear the rest of the story now, and if he made Euron mad, he might well not continue. “Well, the Iron King did reave in the Riverlands, like you say. But the men of the Riverlands fought well, and held their own, holed up in their keeps and castles. He made them bleed, but it was not enough. For years and years, the ironmen fought in the Riverlands, and the Iron King grew old and grey, but still he would not give up. Eventually, his three eldest sons, great warriors, all of them, took command of the ships in the Riverlands, and the Iron King waited on Pyke for news of his sons’ victory, surrounded by his daughters, legendary for their beauty, and his youngest son, known for his cleverness.”  
  
Euron paused, and Victarion filled the silence, eager for him to go on. “And? What happened? Did he die before they could return?”  
  
“Not him,” Euron said softly. “The sons. They were all killed, their longships set afire and sunk by the River King and his three sons. Their bodies were buried in soft, black dirt under tall oaks, far from the sea, so they could never get to the Drowned God’s watery halls. All the Iron King’s sons, save one, dead and gone. The Iron King, his youngest son, and his three daughters grieved for three turns of the moon, locking themselves away in the cold fastness of Pyke, with only thralls to serve them. When they were done mourning, they sent a man bearing a white flag of truce to the River King. The man also carried a letter, inviting the three sons of the River King to Pyke, where, if they were well-pleased by the looks and manners of the girls, they would be married to the Iron King’s three daughters, and so bring an end to the enmity between the two lands.”  
  
“What?!” Victarion spat out, outraged at the thought of a truce. “Ironborn do not-”  
  
“Let me finish, brother,” Euron said, a sly smile spreading across his face. “The River King was eager to throw his victory back in the face of the Iron King, so he accepted the offer and packed his sons off to Pyke. The three sons were more cautious, but the legendary beauty of the Iron King’s three daughters was well-known, and so they made the journey willingly. They were received right in this keep, although it was not known as the Bloody Keep...not yet.”   
  
Euron’s smile grew, and Victarion shivered under the blankets. “A great feast had been laid out, more rich than the Iron King was wont to give, but he had spared no expense. But when the three sons sat down to the feast, the Iron King stood from the Seastone Chair. Thus was the signal given, and all the Ironborn in attendance rose and fell upon the three sons of the River King, butchering them like cattle from their homeland.” Euron’s smile grew into a sharp grin, and Victarion grinned back, despite himself. _We are Ironborn, we do not parley with greenlanders._ “After the slaughter was through, the Iron King had the bodies cut up into pieces and sent back to their father in casks of sea water. And evermore, this keep was named the Bloody Keep. A story to strike fear in the hearts of our enemies, no?”  
  
Victarion nodded, although something was bothering him. “You said they sat down to the feast...was it not a breach of guest right to kill them so?”  
  
Euron shrugged one shoulder lazily, burrowing deeper under the blankets covering them both. “The book does not tell whether they ate or drank before they were killed. I doubt the Iron King much cared, though. Pyke was a bloody place long before this keep became the Bloody Keep, and continued to be long after.” His eyes were dark now, the flame of the candle almost out. “The same book tells even darker tales, you know. Tales of sons killing fathers, and brother killing brother for the honor of sitting the Seastone Chair.”  
  
“But Ironborn must not shed the blood of their fellow Ironborn, let alone kin...” Victarion misliked the look Euron gave him, so patronizing.  
  
“Oh, Vicky, there are ways of killing men that do not spill a single drop of blood, even _you_ should be able to see that.” He reached over and brushed a lock of Victarion’s thick, black hair off his forehead, slender fingers cool against his skin. “But you needn’t worry about that, you’re only a third brother, after all. Although...if Balon died without any sons, _I_ would be Father’s heir.” Euron’s hand lingered on Victarion’s cheek, and Victarion lay very still, hardly daring to breathe. “I wouldn’t have to worry about you, would I, little brother?”  
  
“No, never,” Victarion swore, swallowing hard. He wanted to point out that Balon was young and healthy, and had already sired two sons on his saltwives, but the words died in his mouth at the look in Euron’s eyes. “I will always be loyal, Euron.”  
  
“Always? No matter what?” Victarion nodded wordlessly, and Euron studied him a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he rolled over and blew out the candle, suddenly curt. “Good. Now go to sleep. In the morning, we’ll have your rooms moved. The ones just across from mine aren’t being used.”


End file.
